hit like a girl
by downn-in-flames
Summary: Luckily for Dom Weasley and Hassan Rajhi, first impressions aren't everything. {a three-shot companion piece to Complex}
1. How to Make an Entrance

I've never been the type to obsess over my appearance, but today, I can't stop looking at my reflection in the mirror.

Because today… _today_ , I'm wearing a Wimbourne Wasps practise jersey for the first time, and _holy fuck_ this is everything I've ever dreamed of.

Professional Quidditch has been my dream since the moment I got my first broomstick. It had been an old model that was slower than most on the market and full of additional cushioning charms for a beginner, but the magic thrumming through the wooden handle immediately set my soul on fire.

If only that eight-year-old girl could see me now.

I tear my eyes from my reflection, grabbing my broom and a rucksack from their spot in the corner. They're the only two items adorning the otherwise-empty living room of my new flat in Wimbourne, and the room suddenly looks so much emptier without their presence.

But instead of pondering my desperate need for furniture, I walk out the door. I've got a Quidditch practise to get to after all.

The streets of Wimbourne are sparsely populated, the streets lined with small, local shops selling everything from food to potions supplies to Muggle clothing. It's not unlike the magical area of Tinworth in that regard.

I'm lucky enough to have found a place that's within walking distance of the Wasps training facility, so it's only five minutes later that I find myself at the players' entrance.

Between tryouts back in April and contract negotiations after that, I've met most of the team, but only informally. We clicked during tryouts - it's why I'm on the team, after all - but I'm nervous about this nonetheless. It's one thing to meet people as a team prospect, and a totally different thing to meet them as their teammate.

And then there's the fact that I haven't even met the team's other Beater at all; he was out of the country or something for my tryout. Hassan Rajhi has only been on the team for a few seasons and is, if the the Quidditch magazines are to be believed, a bit of a diva, but Coach Reynolds told me during negotiations that I'd been picked for the Beater spot because he was confident that we'd work well together.

Merlin, I really fucking hope he's right. Beaters as individuals are only so useful - it's only when they work together properly that you get any real magic to happen.

I readjust my duffel bag on my shoulder, before walking in.

The entranceway leads into a seemingly endless hallway. I'm a bit annoyed that no one gave me any directions of how to get to this team meeting I'm supposedly joining - for all the work that went into developing my contract, you'd think someone would've given me a map.

Eventually, the hallway leads into a larger room, filled with chairs and connected to the locker rooms. By all normal logic, this would be where a team meeting would happen - but there's nobody here. I stop walking and look around a little bit, trying to get _some_ sort of hint about where the fuck I'm supposed to be going in this labyrinth of a stadium.

As I'm standing there, a man walks through the opposite doorway. I'd have to be blind to not find him remarkably attractive and he looks a little familiar, but something about the cocky way he carries himself sets me on edge.

He notices me after a few moments, and closes the space between us in a few strides.

"I'm sorry, I think you're lost," he says, smirking as he looks down at me. "This area is for team members only."

I stand up taller, but he's still got at least five inches on me. "Yeah, and I'm a team member."

He raises an eyebrow and looks me up and down, taking his time as he does so.

"I think you're a little confused, sweetheart." The use of 'sweetheart' makes my blood boil, as does the fact that his hand comes up to pat my cheek patronisingly. "What I meant to say is, this area is for Wimbourne Wasps first team members only. But if you come back around in a few hours, I'll be happy to take you for a ride on a different kind of broomstick."

He winks at me, and I think that's probably the thing that pushes me over the edge. Before I have the chance to think through my actions, I'm drawing my arm back and sending my fist flying straight at his face.

There's an oddly satisfying crack.

His hands go up to cup his face, which serves to muffle the, "What the fuck?" that comes out of his mouth.

"Weasley!"

I turn, and find myself looking at Liam Richards, Seeker and Captain of the Wimbourne Wasps, followed by the four other team members I've met. "I see you've met Rajhi."

" _You're_ Weasley?"

I turn back to the bloke in front of me. That's… _oh my Godric,_ that's Hassan Rajhi.

I just punched my co-Beater in the face.

"I - shit, I - " I stammer, before turning back to face my Captain.

This isn't grounds to get myself kicked off the team yet, is it? In my defense, I had _no_ clue who he was because he looks _totally_ different in person and has much shorter hair than usual. _And_ he was acting like a complete womanising prick - which isn't an airtight justification, but it's something.

But instead of yelling at me, like I'm expecting, Richards bursts out laughing. " _Merlin_ , Reynolds was right - you're the _perfect_ person to put Rajhi in his place. Haven't even been here five minutes and you've already socked him in the face."

I just gape at him for a moment, because I was not prepared for that reaction at _all_. "Thanks?"

"Team meeting is happening down the hall, first door on the right, by the way," Richards says, before heading off in the direction that he indicated.

"Uh, excuse me?" Rajhi says, his voice still muffled and a slight lisp to his speech. "Does someone want to fix this?"

I realize that his hands are covered in blood. My hit might've been a little _too_ good.

"Shit," I mutter, grabbing my wand out of my duffel bag. "Move your hands."

He looks at me disbelievingly. " _You're_ going to fix this?"

"Well, _yeah_ ," I say, as if it's obvious. "I did this to you, I might as well fix it too."

The suspicious look in his eyes doesn't go away, but he slowly moves his hands away from his nose; it's definitely a little more crooked than it was a few moments ago. I bring a hand up to rest on his shoulder, and point my wand at his nose with the other hand. "Episkey."

There's another painful cracking sound, and Rajhi groans, but his nose looks much straighter and much less swollen now. There's a bruise developing around his right eye, but I can't really do much to help that one.

I quickly move to clean the blood off his face - despite the fact that my anger got the best of me a few minutes ago, as I calm down I can't help but feel a little guilty for reacting so quickly and aggressively.

Even though he definitely deserved it. I just shouldn't have been the one who did it to him, especially given that we're supposed to be working together for the whole season (and hopefully beyond).

When I finish, he's still watching me, but with a slightly different expression than before - less skeptical, more confused.

"You know," he says eventually, "most people who punch someone in the face don't immediately heal them afterwards."

"Well, I'm not most people," I reply, removing my hand from his shoulder and stepping back. "And while I absolutely do _not_ regret punching you in the face, I probably shouldn't have."

Rajhi snorts. "You think?"

"I have no qualms doing it again if you continue to act like an arse," I warn. "Punching you once seems to have gotten me on Richards' good side - I wonder what two times would do?"

Realistically, I wouldn't punch him again - it was a jerk reaction thing, not to mention that my fingers are already sore from the first time - but he doesn't have to know that.

"Let's _not_ do that; you've already left me bruised as is," he quickly replies. "But in my defence, I was only told that our new Beater's name was Dom Weasley, and Dom sounds like a bloke's name."

I just give him a skeptical look, because that's a weak justification at best for talking to me like I'm just some confused girl who would be ecstatic about the chance to sleep with him.

"How the hell have you grown up in the wizarding world and somehow not known who any of the Weasleys are?" Richards says, having apparently walked back into the room without me noticing.

Rajhi looks at him and shrugs. "Reading comprehension has never been my strong suit."

Richards just laughs under his breath, like this is standard behaviour for his Beater. "Well, you two can finish this conversation later, but for now, we're all waiting on you two to start this meeting."

I quickly stash my wand back in my bag and follow my new Captain, and Rajhi follows suit.

* * *

The first practice is a dream.

I mean, it's also the most rigorous Quidditch training I've experienced in my entire life and I'm positive that I'm going to be sore for the next _week_ , but it just - this team feels right. Being on the pitch with them reminds me precisely why I chose to sign with the Wasps.

And despite our less-than-perfect first meeting, Rajhi and I's on-pitch chemistry is incredible. It's already ages better than any Beater I played with at Hogwarts - and I played with some of those people for _years_. I've played with Rajhi for a matter of _hours_.

Normally, it takes at least a couple weeks to adjust to another player's signals and figure out how to best respond them - and it almost always results in more than one Bludger to the side in the process. But all his actions are intuitive for me - I'm not sure what it is, but he's _so_ easy to read on the pitch. He instinctively defaults to defensive plays, which works perfectly with my tendency to go on the offensive.

After we land and everyone heads off to the locker rooms, Richards pulls me aside.

"So, thoughts on your first team practice?"

"It was absolutely fucking amazing," I gush, unable to keep the massive grin off my face. "I mean, I'm probably not going to be able to walk tomorrow, but… worth it."

"Good," he says, with a small smile. "You know, while I wouldn't normally advocate physically fighting your teammates, I think it was actually surprisingly effective this time."

I cock my head, willing him to explain further.

"Rajhi is notoriously domineering on the field," he explains. "He's a brilliant Beater, but he's walked all over the two Beaters he's worked with in years' past. And the problem is, they let him do it. But you walked in here, and, while perhaps unintentionally, you immediately made him realize that he can't pull that same shit with you."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," I reply. "And he really had it coming for making some gross comment about 'riding his broomstick' and expecting that shit to work on me."

Richards bursts out laughing. "Oh my _Godric_ , he's _such_ as asshole."

He pats me on the shoulder. "You'll realize, once you get farther into this world of professional Quidditch, that some people let the game get into their head. And Rajhi's ego was massive already, so having crowds of cheering fans does nothing to help that."

I suppose he's right - that would be enough to inflate someone's ego to astronomical levels. Although it still doesn't justify him talking to someone like that.

"Well, I'll see what I can do to work on that." And I mean it. I fully intend to knock his stupid ego down a few pegs, because while we work great on the pitch, I won't put up with him if he's constantly acting like a complete twat off the field.

"I have faith that you will," Richards replies. "Day one and you're already an irreplaceable asset to the team."

"Thanks," I reply, trying my best to stay casual even though I'm internally _freaking the fuck out_. That's an _incredible_ compliment to get on the first day.

"Now go home and take an ice bath or something - we're doing all this again tomorrow."

"Roger that." I turn and head off in the direction of the locker rooms.

I quickly shower and change into athletic shorts and an oversized T-shirt, throwing my hair into a ponytail that's undoubtedly leaving a trail of water droplets down the back of my grey shirt.

When I walk out of the locker room, Rajhi's sitting on one of the chairs outside. He's wearing a black leather jacket and jeans even though it's at least 22 degrees outside. He pulls the whole brooding bad boy look off perfectly, and he definitely knows it.

Which is probably why his ego's so damn big.

"Weasley," he says, "just who I was looking for."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Hm?"

He stands up, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I suppose I owe you an apology. I probably shouldn't have said the shit I did when you walked in."

" _Probably_?"

"Yeah. Probably," he reiterates. "You know, you should consider yourself lucky - I don't normally apologize to people."

Merlin, there he goes again. "Well then, you should work on that one."

"I'm not about to - " he starts, before pausing mid-sentence. "You know what? No. I'm trying to apologize, not turn this into another fight. I'm sorry for assuming you weren't on the team, and for hitting on you."

This time, he sounds far more genuine about it.

So I answer, "And I forgive you."

He crinkles his eyebrows. "That's really all it took? I thought all you birds hold grudges for, like, forever."

"First of all, that's a massive generalization," I say. "Second of all, I don't see any point in staying mad about something that you've apologised for. That does no good for either of us."

He looks at me, that same confused look from earlier on his face. "You're really something else, you know that?"

"I've been told."

He laughs. "You know, the typical response to something like that is 'thank you.' "

I arch an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "You're really going to give _me_ lessons on humility?"

"Perhaps I'm not the best at practicing what I preach," he replies. "But anyways, want to grab a drink? There's a pretty decent bar up the road, and I can buy you a drink as a _real_ apology."

I really hope he's not still trying to ask me out.

As if he's reading my mind, he clarifies, "As teammates, obviously. I've already taken my shot once, and it got me this." He gestures to the bruise below his right eye.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," I answer.

We end up at a tiny little hole-in-the-wall bar, sitting in a booth and drinking firewhisky neat.

"So I take it you didn't go to Hogwarts - how'd you end up in the English Quidditch League?"

"My parents both went to Uagadou, and even though we moved to England when I was seven, they still wanted me to go there," he replies. "So I did, but I wanted to come back here after I graduated, so I did a walk-on tryout here because their previous Beaters were abysmal, and… well, the rest is history."

I nod. "Makes sense."

"So you _did_ go to Hogwarts then, yeah? You got scouted from there?"

"Yep," I answer.

"I heard you lot threw some _wild_ parties. True?"

I almost snort, thinking of a couple from this past year in particular. "Definitely true."

"Alright then, craziest story - go."

I don't even know what to go with. And the truth is, most of them involve Alec. We broke up - for real this time - just a few weeks ago, right after graduation, and it's so fresh that all those stories are still tinged with memories of him.

But I find myself telling one of those stories anyways. "Last Halloween I accidentally outed my secret relationship by snogging him in the middle of a party filled with my cousins - and one of them absolutely lost his shit about it."

"They're an overprotective lot, then?"

I roll my eyes. "Some of them like to _think_ they are, which is hilarious, because they're ten times worse about relationships. I mean, James singlehandedly ruined my best friend's life, like, twice in the past year."

"I take it you and him aren't on good terms then," Rajhi says, taking a sip or whisky.

"Oh no," I laugh. "We're on great terms. He's like, properly dating her now, and I've literally never seen the two of them so happy. He just had to get his head out of his ass first."

Rajhi looks a little confused by that, but chuckles anyways. "So what about you? You still with secret relationship guy?"

"Nope," I say, trying to look more cheerful about that than I feel. "He moved to Greece a few weeks ago, so we broke up after graduation."

"Shit, I'm sorry," he says, and once again, I find that he sounds genuine about it. And then he lights up. "You know what that means? We've gotta find you a rebound!"

My first instinct is to reject that proposal - I'm not looking for anything right now. But, I guess, I don't need anything serious. Something without any strings attached sounds nice.

I've never really thought of myself as a one-night-stand type of girl, but I suppose there's a first time for everything.

"Okay," I reply. "Although - full disclosure, I have literally never picked up a guy in a bar before, so I have no idea how that would work."

Rajhi snorts. "You do realize that you will have to do absolutely zero picking up, don't you, love? There's at least three reasonably attractive blokes who've only had eyes for you since we got here."

I guess that _is_ a perk of being part veela.

"But I can give you _all_ the tips on how to get someone to go home with you," he adds. "I'm pretty fucking good at it."

Of course he is. "Alright, you can be my teacher for the night," I say. "But we're also going to work on how _you_ talk to women. Because while that shit from earlier may get you laid on occasion since you're a hotshot Quidditch star who's not too terrible on the eyes, it's also bound to get you punched in the face. Again."


	2. How to Ruin a Good Thing

Despite the rockiest of starts, the relationship between Rajhi and I evolves into something of a very close friendship.

It's probably due to the fact that we're the youngest two on the team, that we spend almost every hour of training together anyways, and that we're both trapped in fucking Wimbourne all the time - but we get on well enough.

Especially when alcohol's involved.

Because in addition to being pretty solid teammates, we're also pretty impressive wingpeople for each other - which has been the primary instigator behind what Molly has lovingly nicknamed my 'hoe phase.'

I'm staying far away from any serious relationships and having a little bit of fun while I'm at it - and it works for me, so I'm more than happy to own it.

But of course, because there's no such thing as a platonic male-female friendship according to my friends, I get more than my fair share of questions about whether or not Rajhi and I are going to get together.

Which is fucking ridiculous, honestly, because I'm not going to date someone who I still have to call out for being a sexist prick half the time.

He's getting better about it - he's learned by now that he'll get slapped upside the head if I hear him talking to anyone the way he spoke to me when we first met - but he still doesn't understand some of the intricacies of it. Last year, there was article in _Quidditch Weekly_ that detailed a 'behind-the-scenes' look at the 'wild lives of professional Quidditch players.' And naturally, both Rajhi and I made the cut.

Whatever boy I hooked up with who decided to report about me to the damn magazine is still a mystery, and I'll definitely knock his lights out if I ever figure out who the fuck it was, but that's an issue for another time.

Regardless, Rajhi barely understood why I was so pissed off by people calling me a slut in the aftermath. 'Don't call yourself that all the time?' was his response.

And I had to spend the next half an hour explaining to him why it's so different for me to say it, when I'm owning it, as compared when it's thrown at me as an insult that implies my worth as a person is somehow inversely correlated with how many men I've fucked.

So we're making some progress, but it's slow going. It's pretty hard to reteach 25 years of being an absolute twat, even if he _is_ somehow better at listening to me than he is to anyone else. The 'saving the bad boy' narrative never goes well in real life - I'm not going to date someone to fix them if they can't fix themselves.

And even if I _could_ get past some of that - and the fact that he's willing to at least listen to me is a good sign, really - I just… don't want that level of commitment to one person again for a while. Alec and I's breakup was a long, drawn-out nightmare, and there's probably some part of me deep down that's still not really over it.

"Oi, Weasley, snap out of it!"

My musings are interrupted by the very subject of them, as he clearly catches onto the fact that I'm not entirely paying attention to him.

I look back at him. "What?"

"I said, 'missing something?' "

It takes me a second to figure out what he's referring to, but eventually my eyes fall on the two Beaters' bats he's holding in his right hand.

"Where the fuck did you get that?" I ask. Last I'd checked, my stupid bat was securely in my locker - far away from Rajhi.

I'm still not sure _how_ it started, but we've now got this weird ongoing bet where if one of us manages to get our hands on the other person's bat, the other person has to buy us a drink. I'm usually way better at it than he is - and as a result have gotten _way_ more free alcohol out of this little game of ours - but he occasionally gets the upper hand.

"I have my methods," he replies with a smirk.

I take a step towards him to get my damn bat back, but he reacts just as quickly, raising them both above his head. Since he's got a couple inches on me, I can't reach them without jumping. And for the sake of my own dignity, I refuse to actually do that.

"You're the fucking worst," I tell him.

His smirk turns into an all-out grin at that. "Oh, don't worry. I already knew that, Weasley."

Naturally, there's only one suitable thing left to do in order to reach my bat - I tackle him.

Or, attempt to tackle him, that is. Instead of knocking him to the floor like I'd vainly hoped I would, he's almost entirely too prepared for this. As a result, I basically end up on his back, and my bat is still entirely out of reach.

"I always give yours back immediately, you know," I argue, still attempting to grab my bat out of his outstretched arms.

"And where's the fun in that?" Rajhi replies, laughing.

"I _don't_ intentionally aim a bludger at you in the middle of practice, _that's_ the fun in that," I retort.

"Please," he scoffs, "we both know your conscience wouldn't tolerate a direct hit at a teammate."

He's right, but I'm not about to admit that.

"Rajhi, Weasley, what the hell are you two doing?" I'm torn from our argument by the sound of Richards' voice; I look up to see him standing right by the pitch entrance door.

"This fucking prick has my bat," I say as defence, but I get off of Rajhi's back anyways.

"Of course he does," Richards responds, with a funny look on his face. "I don't care how many bats each of you are holding, I need both of you on the pitch and in the air in 60 seconds or you're running laps."

He turns around and walks back out the door, leaving Rajhi and I alone again.

"You hear that?" Rajhi asks, smirking. "He doesn't care who has the bats."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up and give me my bat, you asshole."

"Since you asked _so_ nicely, here you go." He throws the bat in my direction.

"Let's go before we get laps," I reply, grabbing my broom before turning on my heel and walking out to the pitch.

"Can't wait for you to buy me that drink tonight, Weasley," Rajhi answers. "I'm gonna make it a triple."

"You make every drink a triple," I shoot back, before straddling my broom and taking off. Richards is already glaring at the both of us, and I know from experience that he won't hesitate to follow through on his earlier threat - and I'm not in the mood to risk it.

* * *

Practice is just as intense as always, but I've been playing in the league for long enough that I know what to expect - and I don't have to spend every single evening soaking in an ice bath to recover anymore either.

I don't bother showering in the locker room today; Rajhi and I decided to go to one of the nicer bars in the next town over, so I've got to actually look presentable - I've learned that Wimbourne is pretty much the only place I'm allowed to show up to a bar with wet hair and sweatpants.

So I head straight back to my flat, hanging my bag and broom up on the hooks by the door, before getting in my own shower and starting the whole process of getting ready. I've really only got two moods - no effort whatsoever, or maximum effort - and tonight's about to be one of the latter.

I've learned a fair few amount of beauty spells from Vic and Abby over the years - although Abby stubbornly refuses to use magic for makeup-related things - so I'm pretty much a pro at making my hair and makeup look pretty fucking incredible, even though I don't do it often.

I grab the first thing that catches my eye in my closet - a short, boxy blue dress with flecks of gold in the fabric. It's less sparkly than what I'd usually go for on a night out, but I'm not expecting this to be a super dramatic night on the town anyways.

I slide on a pair of tan thigh-high boots that I borrowed from Molly a few months ago and still haven't returned, and the timing is pretty much perfect, because there's an impatient knock on my door almost as soon as I get the second shoe on.

"Coming!" I shout in the general direction of the front door, knowing that if I don't acknowledge the knock somehow that it'll only get more persistent.

When I open the door, Rajhi is standing there in his pretty-standard uniform of a brown leather jacket, a grey shirt, and jeans. His hair's finally long enough again that he's started putting it in a bun again - I've never mentioned it to him, but I like it best this way. It's a good look on him.

He scans me up and down briefly, before looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "So you're trying to get laid tonight," he observes, and his gaze falls to the exposed skin on my thighs.

I shrug. "It if happens, it happens."

I wouldn't mind having a little bit of fun tonight, the more I think about it.

"It always happens for you, Weasley," he replies, before changing the subject abruptly. "Got any good liquor here?"

"I owe you one drink, not my liquor cabinet," I retort, but I let him walk into my flat anyways.

"Need I remind you of the time you drank like half of my bottle of top-shelf vodka?" he asks, opening up the cabinet where he knows I keep my alcohol. "You owe me."

"You don't even drink vodka," I tell him. "It deserved to be appreciated properly."

At that, Rajhi snorts. "And by 'appreciated,' you mean mixed with a fuck ton of other things and chugged in one go when you lost a game."

"That's exactly what I mean," I reply, pulling two shot glasses out of my cabinet.

Rajhi brings my bottle of whisky over, pouring a more-than-healthy dose into each of them. "Cheers."

I pick up my shot, clink it with his, and down it all in one go. "Shit," I say, once I set my glass down. "We need to go get food before we do any more of _that_."

"Yes, mum," Rajhi replies jokingly.

My 'mum friend' tendencies are relatively rare - I grew up best friends with Molly, who's practically perfected the art of it, while I've always been more of the 'wild child' - but they do make an appearance every so often.

But despite Rajhi's sarcastic response, we _do_ end up grabbing a quick dinner before going out. It serves as a nice buffer for the triple firewhisky and coke that Rajhi insists I buy for both him and myself.

We've got a bit of a routine to our escapades - and they always start at a table near the back of the bar, playing drinking games amidst normal conversation.

Tonight's is a favourite of ours: we take turns reciting Quidditch facts, and the other person has to decide whether it's a real or a fake one.

"You can get a foul for lighting someone's robes on fire," I say to Rajhi, watching as he thinks it through.

"True," he answers.

"False," I say, grinning. "It's only for lighting someone's broom on fire - theoretically, robes are fair game."

He grabs his drink and takes a large sip. "Damn. You'd think they would've closed that loophole by now."

"I think the whole 'no wands out during gameplay' penalty mostly has that one covered at this point."

"I guess," he replies, pausing to come up with his own fact. "There was a match in 1842 where Appleby won because the Snitch flew into the Keeper's robes and he caught the Snitch himself."

"False," I say, almost immediately. "He handed it off to the Seeker before it could be called an official catch."

"Right you are," he responds, taking another sip of his drink.

Future rounds don't go quite as well for me as that one though, because Rajhi eventually starts pulling out North African Quidditch League facts, which I know absolutely fuck-all about.

And once we're both too tipsy to remember Quidditch facts, the game shifts to our other standby: truth or drink. It's a terrible decision when we've already had as many drinks as we have, but honestly, who the hell cares at this point? We don't have practice _or_ a game tomorrow, and with our training schedule, it's actually been a long ass time since I've been properly drunk.

"Which of your siblings is your favourite?"

I drink to that one, because I've got absolutely no idea what the answer is. Victoire has basically been my role model since I was born, but Louis never ceases to crack me up - so it's a pretty even tie, really, for totally different reasons.

"Take a bludger to the stomach or one to the back?" It's not my juiciest question, but I'm running low on ideas.

"Stomach, easy," he answers. "It knocks the wind out of you, yeah, but it's better than the back pain that stays even after it's technically been healed."

He thinks for a moment. "What's the first thing you'd say to your ex the next time you see him?"

"Hmm, probably just that I hope he's happy now."

Rajhi barks out a laugh at that. "Of course you would - I forget that you're one of those saints who doesn't hold grudges for years like the rest of us normal people."

I shrug, before spending a moment thinking about my next question. I don't like that his drink is so much more full than mine, so I pull out one that's guaranteed to make him drink instead of answer. "Would you fuck me?"

"Yes."

I stare at his drink for a few seconds, waiting for him to grab it and take a sip, before it registers that he's answered me.

I immediately look up at him - I really thought I'd gotten him with that one, dammit - and discover that he's looking at me differently than normal. I can't put my finger on _what_ exactly is different about it though.

"Would you fuck _me_?" he asks.

There's just enough liquor in my system for the answer to that question to be 'yes' - I'd have to be blind to not realise that he's fit as hell, and it'd be a lie if I said I haven't been curious if our chemistry on the Quidditch pitch would translate in bed. But I'm not going to _tell_ him that - what fun would that be?

Instead, I pick up my almost-empty glass, looking coyly at Rajhi for a moment before downing the contents of it.

And just like that, the intensity of his gaze is gone as he leans back against the back of the booth. "Fuck you, Weasley," he says, laughing.

"I thought we'd already established you would," I reply, smirking. "You shouldn't say things you don't intend on following through with."

"You're right. I shouldn't," he says, suddenly serious again.

There's a moment of silence between us - an impressive feat in a bar, really - before he speaks again. "So are we doing this or not?"

Honestly, fuck it.

"Maybe," I tell him, moving to get up from my seat. "But you'll have to buy me another drink first."

* * *

Not even five minutes later, Rajhi has me pinned up against the wall in the back stall of the bar bathroom, all thoughts of another drink completely forgotten. Oddly enough, once the idea was proposed, we were both all too eager to follow through with it.

And fucking _hell_ , he's good at this. Neither of us have lost any clothes, yet somehow, he's already driving me absolutely mad, running teasing touches over my hip, on the underside of my breast, along my waist - he's fucking everywhere. It's got to be the liquor that's doing it, but I absolutely can't get enough of him as I pull him even closer, tasting the whisky on his tongue.

I thread my fingers into his hair, knocking the loosely-wrapped hair tie out entirely so that his hair comes tumbling back to his shoulders - and I can't help but laugh into the kiss when I hear the hair tie hit the wall opposite us.

I'm particularly grateful that I chose to wear a dress tonight as his hands slide up my thighs, making the fabric bunch up at my hips. There's fewer layers to worry about this way.

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming something about consequences, but I very quickly shut it up. This is a one-time thing only, and there's something surprisingly gratifying about doing something I probably shouldn't.

He starts making his way down my neck with his lips, and when he hits a spot that makes me gasp, he chuckles into my skin. I'd be annoyed with his cockiness if I wasn't so damn turned on by it right now.

After a moment there, he drops to his knees, and uses that movement to pull my knickers down too in one fluid motion. I step out of them almost immediately and he takes me by surprise by pulling my left leg over his shoulder.

It's almost funny, because I certainly wouldn't have put him as the type to do this in a one-night-stand situation. I would've pinned him as the type to receive and not reciprocate, if anything.

"You sure about this?" he asks, and I look down at him in my fantastically unsteady position to see him watching me with that same intensity from earlier.

But for fuck's sake, if there was ever a moment for me to be having second thoughts about this, it sure the fuck isn't now.

"Shut up and go down on me, you asshole."

He smirks at that, tightening his grip on my hips. "Nice to know you dirty-talk the same way you Quidditch-talk."

There's a retort on the tip of my tongue, but Rajhi very quickly follows through with my instructions, and my ability to form coherent sentences is absolutely smashed to fucking pieces.

* * *

I wake up the next morning with, miraculously, only the mildest of hangovers, my body humming with the mix of soreness and satisfaction that only comes from truly fantastic sex.

I bring my arms above my head and stretch, and the feel of the silk sheets against my body alerts me to the fact that I'm not in my own bed.

Huh. _That's_ odd - I don't usually stay overnight when I sleep with a guy. It saves him from thinking there's any chance of it becoming a repeat thing, and it saves me from having to break that news to his face the next morning.

Then the events from the night before come back to me in a rush, and I remember that the bloke responsible for my current state is my fucking teammate.

Perhaps... this wasn't my best drunken decision of all time.

I'm wearing nothing but a Wimbourne Wasps T-shirt that, were it not for the distinct smell of whatever laundry detergent Rajhi uses, I'd mistake for one of my own. My dress, shoes, and underthings are all strewn across the floor, the only chaos in an otherwise neat room.

It's funny - I've been to Rajhi's flat before, but never in his bedroom. And it's decidedly different from what I'd expect of him. It's minimalistic and orderly, the muted splashes of blue and green around the room not at all in stylistic sync with the fact that the bloke's almost always in a leather jacket with his hair slicked back.

Most notably, I realise that Rajhi's not here. Which means he's probably out in the living room or kitchen. _Merlin_ , I hope he's not making breakfast for me or some shit like that. He should know me better - he's the one responsible for my opinions on morning-afters, anyways.

I grab my dress off the floor and slide my knickers back on, fully prepared to act totally natural when I see him, before Flooing back to my flat.

But when I get out into the main area of Rajhi's flat, I discover that he's not here either. His flat's totally empty - he's gone.

I can't figure out why I feel slightly disappointed at that revelation - if anything, I should be _happy_ that I'm avoiding the awkwardness of a morning-after interaction altogether. But that logic does little to fix the sinking feeling in my stomach, as I grab a handful of Floo powder from his fireplace and head back home.

* * *

I don't see Rajhi at all until two days later at practice.

And even then, he's weirdly distant. When he shows up to the team meeting, he doesn't take his usual seat next to me - instead, he sits on the opposite side of the room, and pays way more attention to Richards than he ever usually does.

I never thought I'd miss getting snapped at by my captain for laughing at an inappropriate joke in the middle of an otherwise serious meeting, but the whole affair is so much more boring without Rajhi by my side.

That tension, however, disappears entirely once we're on the pitch. As soon as we're airborne, everything's fine and no one would ever know something's changed between the two of us.

Although, honestly, _I_ didn't even know something had changed between the two of us.

But our Quidditch is entirely unaffected by Rajhi's weird behaviour - and honestly, I'd expect nothing less. It's 'professional Quidditch' for a goddamn reason, and I'd be royally pissed at him if he let his weird moodiness affect our game.

I keep thinking he'll get over it eventually and everything will just jump back to normal, but suddenly two weeks have passed and he's still keeping his distance from me.

It's driving me absolutely fucking mental.

And I want nothing more than to sit down with him and clear the air, but he won't fucking let me do it. He's never _alone_ , which makes it so much harder to just pull him aside. And every time I've tried, he's given me some bullshit excuse and weaseled his way out of it.

I tell Abby about this when we're dress shopping for the stupid annual Ministry gala that I'm somehow required to go to each year - despite the fact that no one in my immediate family even _works_ for the Ministry, for fuck's sake - and her response is almost exactly what I expect. She tells me to find a way to talk with him and figure out where his head is at, which is so much easier said than done.

It's easy for her to say that - she _lives_ with the only bloke she ever has to resolve issues with. It's so much simpler to solve problems with someone who can't fucking run away from you.

But even so, I manage to follow her advice a few days later; Rajhi and I are the last two to leave the pitch after practice, which conveniently translates to us being the last ones into the locker room.

I shower as quick as possible and don't even bother brushing my hair afterwards, determined to catch him before he leaves.

It's pretty brilliant timing, that, because when I walk out of the women's locker room, Rajhi's leaving the men's one. He's clearly a little surprised to see me - I think he expected he'd leave significantly faster than me.

"Hey, can we talk?" I ask immediately, moving to block him from exiting the common area.

"Er, not really," he replies, attempting to brush me off yet again. "I'm late for… something."

But this time, I'm not taking no for an answer.

"You're lying," I say, calling his bluff. "You're just trying to get out of talking to me."

"There's nothing for us to talk about," he responds stubbornly, and I almost roll my eyes at that. The fact that he's being such an arse about this indicates that there is most _definitely_ something for us to talk about.

He tries to duck past me, but my reflexes are just as quick as his, and I grab him by the arm.

"Don't you fucking dare run away from me," I warn, my voice coming out more dangerous than intended.

His eyes go wide at that, and I watch as a series of facial expressions betray a whole host of thoughts, eventually ending in resignation.

"Okay, fine," he says. "Let's talk."

"We can go back to my place?" I offer. The alternatives involve having this conversation here, in the middle of the team common area, or going back to Rajhi's place, which feels a bit like returning to the scene of the crime - so my flat seems like the best option at this point.

"Er, sure, we can do that."

I grab his hand to Side-Along him back to my flat; at this rate, I still don't trust him not to run away again, so forcing him along with me is the safest option.

"Tea?" I offer, as soon as we find ourselves standing in the middle of my flat. He shakes out of my grip on his hand almost immediately, and goes to sit on my couch.

"Nah," he replies. My next bet would normally be to offer him a drink of the alcoholic variety, but given where that got us last time around, it's probably safer if both of us are completely sober for this conversation.

I sit on the other side of the couch, turning to face him, and I figure I might as well cut straight to the point. "You're avoiding me - you have been ever since that night two weeks ago. You practically run in the other direction any time I try to talk to you off the pitch, and even now, you won't even fucking look at me. And you've given me absolutely zero fucking explanation for it - so I'd really like one now, if you don't mind."

He looks rather taken aback by that, although I don't really know why. He should be used to the fact that I don't typically mince words by now. "I - er - I - "

When he trails off, I try again. "Do you regret it?"

This time, his response comes much quicker. "Yes."

He must see the way my face falls, because he's quick to tack on a, "Not like that."

And then he stands up and turns away from me, running his fingers through his hair frustratedly and pulling out the hair tie in the process. They freeze there after a moment, and I have to remind myself not to think about how it felt when it was _my_ hands doing that.

"Fuck," he says after a moment, "things were so much easier when I just… didn't feel anything."

A weird feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, but I nudge him to continue anyways. "What do you mean?"

He laughs at that, but it's entirely hollow. "You're really going to make me fucking say it out loud, aren't you?"

I don't say anything to that, so he continues, finally turning back around - although he's still not looking directly at me. "I regret sleeping with you because I like you - way more than I fucking should, if we're being honest - and that night did absolutely fuck-all to help me get over it."

Oddly enough, my very first thought in response to that is that it turns out Abby was right after all. My second one is just a long, drawn-out 'fuuuuuuuck.'

The third thought, which doesn't hit me until a few moments later, is the one I end up vocalising. "If that's true, why the fuck did you just up and leave me alone in your flat the next morning?"

"Because I woke up and absolutely fucking panicked," he replies. "Every other time I've woken up with a girl in my bed, it's just kind of been like… yeah, okay, that was a fun night, but I'd be totally happy never seeing you again. And with you, it wasn't like that. At all. And I had no idea what the hell to do."

He does his best to pull his hair back up while he's talking, but it's much messier this time. "And I knew you didn't want it to mean anything more than a one-night-stand, but there was no way in hell I was going to be able to look at you when you woke up and not get all emotional and shit, so I left."

"Where the hell did that come from?" I ask. "When the fuck did you just randomly start fancying me?"

"Fuck if I know," he answers. "It's not like I woke up one day was was just like 'huh, you know what, I'm gonna catch feelings for my teammate today.' But it happened anyways - gradually at first, and then it just bitch-slapped me all at once."

He laughs hollowly again. "I'm so fucking gone on you, it's absurd."

I open my mouth to respond, but my brain still hasn't put together a coherent response yet, so the result is that nothing comes out.

"I know you're not into me like that, I get it," he replies.

"It's not you," I tell him, almost automatically.

He gives me a look that suggests that that line is definitely not going to work on him.

"I mean, it is, but not entirely," I try again, hoping to explain myself better this time. "I just - even if I _was_ into you like that, there's - you know what the National Team selection committee is like. I can't put my dream at risk - not when I'm so close to it. And it... it'd put you at risk too, because Reynolds seems to think they'll probably only take us as a pair. I can't focus on anything but Quidditch right now."

"Well, the selection committee is a bunch of sexist assholes," he complains, and hearing that phrase come out of his mouth almost makes me laugh - if the present situation weren't quite so serious, I probably would. "Like half the National Team is married - it's fucked up that somehow the rules are different for you."

I shrug. "When I get to the point in my career where I can change things, I will. But for now, I'm playing by their rules to get myself into that position to begin with."

Rajhi suddenly looks down at his feet and sticks his hands into the pockets of his joggers. "And even that wouldn't change the fact that you don't feel the same way to begin with."

I feel a rush of guilt at that, but I have to remind myself that I don't owe romantic feelings to anyone. "No, I don't," I answer softly.

"I… yeah, I figured," he replies resignedly.

There's a long, awkward silence between the two of us - it seems neither of us can quite figure out what to say next.

Finally, I bite the bullet. "So, where does that put us?" I ask, realising that I'm actually incredibly nervous about the answer. "You're… you're one of my best friends, and I really don't want to lose you over a dumb, drunk decision."

"You won't lose me," he says, looking at me again. "I just… I need some time. And I need some space - I can get over you and things will be fine between us again, but it… I can't do it if we're spending every moment together. I just need time."

Strangely enough, the idea of Rajhi 'getting over me' leaves that same heavy feeling in my stomach as finding out he fancied me did. But I want to respect his wishes - and he's being pretty damn respectable about this whole thing instead of acting like I owe him reciprocated feelings, which is what I would've expected him to do when we first met - so I find myself nodding.

"I'll be here whenever you're ready," I tell him. "I miss my partner-in-crime - antagonising Richards is nowhere near as fun alone."

At that, he finally cracks a small smile. "I miss my partner-in-crime too. Don't worry, we'll be back to ruining Richards' captain meetings and wingmanning for each other soon enough."

"Good," I reply, and I instinctively get up to give him a hug, but stop myself. He's asked for space, and that's definitely not it.

So instead, I'm stuck standing next to the couch awkwardly. "I - I'll see you at practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says, grabbing his stuff off my counter. "I'll see you, Weasley."

He sees himself out, and as soon as he leaves and shuts the door, I sit back down on the couch, dropping my head into my hands.

I should probably be happy that we've finally resolved things and that we're seemingly on a path to get back to normal, but instead, I just feel strangely empty.


End file.
